a summation
more wasted days,
gored days,
evaporated days.
more squandered days,
days pissed away,
days slapped around,
mutilated.
the problem is
that the days add up
to a life,
my life.
sit here
73 years old
knowing I have been badly
fooled,
picking at my teeth
with a toothpick
which
breaks.
dying should come easy:
like a freight train you
don’t hear when
your back is
turned.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
